


Temptress of the Sea

by Arterius_Rising



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Bodhan is scarred for life, Boot Worship, Buckles, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Fetish, Fetish Clothing, Friends With Benefits, I'm slightly obsessed with those buckles, Lesbian Sex, Light Dom/sub, Long Term Lovers, Lovers, Masturbation, Mutual Attraction, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Red Hawke, Scent of leather and sex, Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Humor, She’s squishy really, Smut, Sorry Not Sorry, Swearing, Those boots though..., Vulnerable Hawke, feels at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 03:58:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17842034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arterius_Rising/pseuds/Arterius_Rising
Summary: She dreams of sleek muscles, encased in bronze silk, with hair as lush as Orlesian chocolate and eyes like coppers. Hawke is no mage to be tempted by lustful whispers of a desire demon, but she is bewitched by her pirate queen.‘...the only one who could tame her was a temptress of the sea. And Andraste smite her, once she got thinking about Isabela, she couldn’t stop.’





	Temptress of the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> The smut is strong with this one. But peppered with feels.
> 
> Chapter summary: They can’t deny their attraction to one another, even if the Champion of Kirkwall and her pirate queen refuse to realise the seeds of love have already been sown...

Aveline did prattle on. Hawke lost interest half way through. She had been done with the woman’s lectures and judgement the same year they’d landed in Kirkwall, maybe even the moment they stepped foot onto the docks. 

Times had weathered the edges of their jagged relationship, but it hadn’t endeared Hawke to listening to the woman go on about her guards; and the laws which must be followed above all else, for Hawke was now an example and... she really didn’t care. 

The people would think what they would of her, and she would not change. She did not belong to the people of Kirkwall; not as everyone would have her believe. 

No, the only one who could tame her was a temptress of the sea. And Andraste smite her, once she got thinking about Isabela, she couldn’t stop. Her breath quickened, and heat grew between the junction of her legs. Hawke’s mind strayed, as her gaze had, to the corner of the room as she fell into memories of hot breaths and needy moans. 

“Hawke.” The guard captains cutting voice brought her briefly back into the present, which was certainly less pleasurable than her foray into her lusty thoughts. 

“Hm?” Hawke hummed, reluctantly drawing her eyes back to the red head, along with her mind. She needed to get out of the Keep, get some cold air. She licked her dry lips. Or, she really needed to find somewhere private, even semi-private, to release some steam. 

“You’re not even listening to me, are you?” Aveline accused. “Can you not take your duty seriously, for the first time in... ever?” 

Hawke stood, blood thumping so loudly she could barely think. But not in anger. She was too far gone to feel much but mild annoyance for the captain. “When I inevitably become the Viscount,” she pushed, using words as her weapons. “Then I will be sure to award you a medal Aveline. For all the _caring_ you do about this city.” 

She was halfway to the door when Aveline spoke, never one to give up the final word. “Not with the Templars out for your throat, you won’t.” 

Hawke paused, and white noise silenced the once thundering beat in her ears. Slowly, she looked back over her shoulder. Aveline had that smug, fake smile on which Hawke despised above all else. “Then it is fortunate Bethany is not here, to see what comes.” 

Aveline’s expression faulted, but Hawke was out the door and up the stairs before anything more could he said. She’d hate to give the woman a black eye, it wouldn’t look good on either of their reputations. 

Need dulled, but not vanquished, Hawke made a swift escape from the bothersome high-born’s littering the Keep. If she had one more forced pleasantry thrown her way, she might barf. 

She needed a bath just to wash the mixed scents of all their expensive perfumes from her hair, and then, then she would sneak into the cities underbelly. Where she truly belonged.  

Hawke would take an attempted shiv to the gut any day over the way nobles waged war with words, coin and ruined reputations. One was far simpler to deal with, and less of a headache. 

Taking the steps two at a time, she took a direct, headlong charge for the door to her mansion. Anyone would aimed to intercept her would have to be a fool. Golden armour clinking angrily as she went, Hawke was a force to be reckoned with. And all she wanted was to get off. 

Bodahn and Sandal weren’t in. They were preparing to leave, which meant they must have been at the markets; planning for their travel. Hawke was grateful. She wanted to live alone, to be alone. The lack of a constant chance to be interrupted wouldn’t be missed and, it meant she could please herself anywhere in the house. 

Wouldn’t that be a small miracle? 

She had all the coin she ever wanted, and spent most of her time when home cooped up in either her bedroom or office just to avoid the traffic which seemed to come and go from her house near constantly.

Her fingers moved to the straps securing her armour as she mounted the stairs. Each weight which usually assured her that her vitals were more or less protected felt smothering. Her body was too hot, too sensitive and the undershirt she wore rubbed abrasively against her hardened nipples. 

Leaving her plate spread along the balcony landing, Hawke reached down to remove her shirt with little concern for the full windows leading out onto nosy neighbours. Let them see, if they so wished, she was not shy of her body, and the ache between her legs had grown so much, she couldn’t find it in her to spare much thought to them anyway. 

Sliding her breeches over her hips, she kicked them away with her boots. Bare as the day she was born, her nipples pricked further at the chill temperature in her room. She didn’t make it to the bed. Once her hands began their trail from her collar bone, over the plump mounds of her breasts to tweak those puckered nipples, she was lost to sensation. 

Fist clasped, and arm rested on the wall above her head, Hawke spread one leg in front of the over and let her fingers delve between her folds. She groaned, eyes closing shut, as she felt how wet she already was. 

Teeth bared, and breath coming in short, sharp intakes, Hawke played with her nub in circled motions. She wouldn’t last. Already she felt the ecstasy rising; that one moment of euphoria like no other. 

Maker, she needed it. Wanted it. The only way it could have been better is if her rivaini’s fingers were the ones teasing her orgasm from betwixt her legs. Panting, with her limbs shaking, she cried out. There was movement in the corner of her eye, someone stood in the mess of her armour, but there was no stopping her pleasure as it burst from her core. 

Sated for now, Hawke rested her forehead upon her forearm, and left her slick covered fingers on her thigh. 

“Well,” Isabela’s throaty voice came from the doorway. “Had I known what I’d walk in on when sneaking in here, I would have walked a little faster. Scratch that, a lot faster.” 

Hawke licked her lips, and eyed the bronze temptress from beneath sweat soaked strands of her blonde hair. Her first organism only took the edge off, and her silver eyes soaked in her lover’s body from pretty head to toe. 

“I thought of you,” she admitted, lifting her head fully, she gave the pirate a sultry smirk. “With my fingers between my legs. Envisioned they were yours. But now,” she pushed off the wall, “I want my mouth on you.” Her pointed look, to exactly where she wanted to plant open mouthed kisses, had Isabela shift her stance, not so subtly squeezing her legs together. 

Isabela crossed the space between them as swiftly as only a rogue could, and had Hawke not been preparing to brace herself, they both would have tumbled to the floor as their bodies collided. Isabella locked her legs around Hawkes waist, and she eagerly grabbed palm fulls of her shapely backside, revealed through the slim piece of underwear she wore under her... tunic. 

She was an arse type of woman. 

Hawke groaned, and Isabela took the chance to slant their mouths over one another. The pirates tongue plundered her mouth, and she welcomed the intrusion. Soon, she’d return the attention, with her tongue between Isabela’s folds. 

Walking to the bed, with the strength of a woman who wore heavy armour and wielded a hefty two handed sword on a daily basis, Hawke planted the rivaini onto her bed. When Isabela hooked her arms around Hawke’s neck, aiming to pull her down on top, she held back. 

Isabela fluttered her eyelashes. “Hawke. I want you. _Now_.” 

She ran a thumb over Isabela’s bottom lip, plump from their clash of lips. “Keep the boots on. They’re sexy as fuck.” 

She laughed, throaty but light. “Whatever the Champion says.” 

Hawke frowned, and crawled over the rivaini as she removed her clothes, leaving nothing but the slip of material between her legs, and those Maker blessed boots with the many, many buckles. Taking her hands, Hawke clasped them above Isabela’s head and tilted her chin till their eyes met. 

“I have no title when we are like this. I am... just Hawke. You are neither above, nor below me Isabela.” 

“I wouldn’t say that,” she jested, the innuendo clear. When she tried to turn her head away, shifting her hips where Hawke straddled to change the subject, by trying to use her lust to make Hawke forget, she instead held fast. 

“Look at me.” 

Isabela licked her lips, amber eyes almost completely overtaken by black. Hawke knew her pirate had a kinky side, but had she only now noticed that Isabela liked it when Hawke took the lead? 

Tightening her hold on Isabela’s wrists to emphasis her question, Hawke purred, “Do you like this?” When her lover moaned, and quivered subtly beneath her hands and body, Hawke felt her breath catch and her eyes dilate further. 

When Isabela tried to gain friction, by attempting to throw Hawke to the side so she could split her legs till their cores met, Hawke settled her weight more fully and extended a portion of her strength to keep her seat, straddled and in control. 

“Answer me, Isabela.” 

“Yes, Hawke! Andraste’s flaming nickers, Yes!” She threw her head back, and squirmed. “Just touch me!” 

She bent, and ran her tongue up Isabela’s bared throat. Fuelled on by her intense noises of pleasure, Hawke set her focus on one goal, making her girl shatter with pleasure. Baring her teeth, she dragged them down, following the line her tongue had just wettened on sensitive flesh. Isabela bucked. 

“Patience.” Hawke hummed. 

“Ah, fuck.” But Isabela relented. Giving in to Hawke’s control; her capable hands, and skilful mouth. 

“I love your dirty mouth.” Hawke dipped to place a brief kiss to her pouted lips, before dropping lower. 

Releasing her wrists, Isabela was free to clutch at the bedding as Hawke slipped to the junction between her ample breasts. Hawke cupped the underside of one, and licked the around the nipple of the other. Isabela muttered curses under her breath, and tilted her head back, eyes closed and mouth popped open with harsh breaths. 

“Your tits drive me crazy.” When Hawke spoke, her hot breath rushed out to tickle the hardened, russet nipple below her mouth. “I can barely think straight when I imagine them.” 

“Hawke,” Isabela moaned, and rolled her hips. 

Grinning, she took pity on her lover and sucked the aching peek between her lips. While her hands cupped and squeezed her breasts together, Hawke fluttered her tongue over her nipples and with a wet pop, released one to show the other some much needed attention. Isabela became liquid fire beneath her. 

Panting, Isabela reached for her head. Her fingers dragged through, pulling at the roots until Hawke felt a slight sting which sent arousal shivering down her spine. She suddenly gripped Isabela by the rear and squeezed, “But this. Your arse. I can’t stop looking at it when we’re out in the field.” 

She gave one of the cheeks a light slap, which made Isabela chortle, and gasp. Hawke reached for the thin line of her panties, and with straining muscles, ripped the fabric at her hip in two. She slipped the damp fabric free, and smirked as she drew it up to her face. 

“You’re unbelievable!” Isabela swiped at her, with no intention of stealing Hawke’s prize. “Oh, my lucky stars were looking out for me when they put you in the hanged man all those years ago.” 

Hawke grinned at the admission, taking her words to store for a rainy day, and threw the shredded panties onto the floor at the foot of the bed. Trailing her hands up thick, suns kissed thighs, Hawke settled at her centre. Securing Isabela’s boot covered legs over shoulders, she blew on the shimmering petals. Isabela’s thighs tightened, and the scent of leather and arousal increased; filling Hawke’s nostrils. 

“Are you going to make me beg?” Isabela raised a brow, as Hawke placed a sloppy kiss to her thigh, her mouth hovering over everywhere but the one place her lover craved. 

She grinned, and Isabela collapsed back onto the bed. “You minx, you’re going to be the de-”

Hawke descended, her flat tongue trailed up the sensitive folds, and Isabela’s taste burst over her tongue. She groaned, as Isabela threw her head backwards, hair cascading out over the silky bedding. “Hawke!” 

She chuckled, and the sound reverberated through to Isabela’s aching nub. Guided by her knowledge of her pirate queen, and the gasps and straining muscles beneath her, Hawke strung Isabela into a frenzy. Each time her orgasm was on the brink, she slowed her tongue, till Isabela was a beautiful mess in her arms; sweat slicked her body, and her dark skin took on a rosy hue. 

Hawke might have been made of stone, but she was not cruel. She knew exactly how far to push her lover, and when to give. Setting an unwavering pace with her tongue, she felt Isabela’s legs tighten around her head, buckles pressed into the skin on Hawke’s back and her whole body grow taunt as a bow string, ready to be loosed. 

“Oh, oh!” 

Hawke grabbed her by the rear, and raised her hips up off the bed. The change in angle caused exquisite friction which caused Isabela’s peek to crash over her. Hawke lapped at her release, as hungry as a demon for a mages power. Squeezing the maddening flesh of her rear, Hawke moaned and only relented when Isabela went limp in her grip. 

Leaning back, she wiped her lover’s slick from her chin and licked the remaining residue from her lips. Climbing up her body, Hawke propped herself above Isabela on strong arms, muscles encased in pale, scarred flesh. “Stay,” her tone suggested it was a command, when really there was always a choice. 

Isabela stretched, a content look of a cat who got all the cream. The ones who weren’t eaten by refugees and the poor in Darktown. 

“Sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere, not with pleasure like this on then cards,” she flashed her teeth, and arched her back till her ample breasts brushed against Hawke’s own hardened nipples. She shuddered, and eyed the rounded flesh with growing hunger. Hawke had gotten but a small taste, and she wanted more. 

“Good.” Hawke’s voice dipped, as smooth as old liquor. “Because we’re not done yet.” 

Isabela wrestled her, moving their bodies with the deadly grace of a woman who knew how to fight, and how to fight up close and dirty. Their legs thrown over one another, Isabela pressed their slick cores together. Hawke felt herself go briefly lightheaded, and when Isabela began to move, she was lost. 

Reaching across the space over their connected bodies, damp with sweat, she wrapped Isabela’s loose locks around her fist. Every time Isabela’s folds drew across her own in a dance which stole her breath, Hawke pulled lightly on the strands; giving Isabela a hint of sting; just enough to heighten the pleasure. 

Their grunts and gasps, accompanied by the obscene sounds of flesh on flesh filled the air, as potent as the scent of sex. When her second orgasm fell upon her like a rabid mabari, Hawke loosened her hold and snatched the bedding instead, not trusting herself not to yank too hard. She cried out, a husky, purely satisfied sound. 

“Isabela,” she moaned, and stared at her lover through lowered eyelashes as the pirate queen worked herself still, driving Hawke’s release onwards. Hawke watched as her face twisted, and she too, was lost to the rocky waves of oblivion. Isabela’s mouth opened in a silent plea, and then she cried, “Yes, yes!” 

They collapsed, legs entwined, slick with each other and sweat. Hawke tried to focus on a point in the centre of her bed’s canopy ceiling, but her vision blurred. Burning need gave way to sated bliss. Her thumb massaged circles into the soft, damp skin of Isabela’s thigh, spreading the beads of sweat. 

Chest rising and falling, she almost didn’t hear the sound of incoming footsteps over the ringing in her ears. Tilting her head to the side, she ceased her teasing of Isabela’s skin, and instead reached for the knife under her pillow. Amber eyes opened to look at her, a knowing look in them; Isabela had heard the incoming intruder, but seemed less concerned than Hawke. 

Bodahn of all people stepped into the open doorway of her bedroom. “Messere-“ his pale eyes rounded. 

Hawke closed her eyes, leant her head back and sighed. Maker help her and her lack of privacy. Neither she, nor Isabela reached to over themselves, and it must have been the most flustered the dwarf had ever been. 

“M-my deepest apologises, Serah!” He turned his back, hands flying this way and that as of his gestures could emphasis his regret. “I would have never... if I had known... you see...” 

“Bodahn,” she called, eyes snapping open. “For Maker’s sake, just leave!” 

Isabela chortled, shouting after him as the dwarf rushed back down the stairs, side stepping pieces of armour as he went, “We’re not shy!” Followed by a wink in Hawke’s direction. 

Hawke made a deep sound in her throat, “Don’t tease my servants. I’m sure the poor man is scarred enough as it is.” Isabela paid her tone no heed. Instead, the rogue stretched, and Hawke was helpless but to watch the arch of her bronze body with eager eyes. 

“Stay with me?” This time, the question was different. No command. More vulnerable.

“Hm?” Isabela propped herself up on her elbows. “I’m not going anywhere, silly.” She dragged her nails along Hawke’s shin. “The night is still young yet.” 

“That isn’t what I meant. Well, it is... but not only that.” She sounded direr than she intended, and with a brief cough to clear her throat, Hawke tried again. “I mean, stay here with me. Live with me.” 

Isabela blinked, and when Hawke wondered if she’d pushed too soon - as much as she too, wasn’t used to living with a lover – Isabela made an overly exaggerated thinking expression and pressed a finger to her lips. “Let me see. Stay here, in this mansion? With your endless supplies of alcohol in the cellar, and this comfy bed?” 

Hawke frowned. 

“How could I say no?” The rogue’s eyes gleamed with mischief. 

Just as Hawke opened her mouth to retort, hurt colouring her words, Isabela pounced and pressed a finger to Hawke’s lips instead. “I jest. What would keep me here, _anywhere_ for that matter, is you Hawke.” 

Her hand snaked down to squeeze Isabela’s rear. Endearingly. “That better be the case.” 

“And if it isn’t?” Her pirate queen fluttered her lashes. 

Hawke lifted Isabela till she was straddling her waist, and her back was to the many pillows at the head of the bed. Hand cupping the back of her head, she drew Isabela down into a smouldering kiss. “Then I better prove my worth over these frivolous things, over this large and empty house.” 

“Oh, you are worth it.” Isabela spoke feverishly against her mouth, arms rising to link around Hawke’s neck. 

More than anything, besides the physical aspects - which were beyond pleasant, she couldn’t lie - Hawke adored Isabella’s spirit; wild and untamed, brave even. And when their lips broke, tingling with sensation, and their eyes met, Hawke smiled, “Welcome home.” 

 

 

 


End file.
